


Only a Rumor

by Alkalyne



Category: Star Trek: Deep Space Nine
Genre: Just a drabble, M/M, this is not a happy one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-29
Updated: 2013-10-29
Packaged: 2017-12-30 21:28:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,831
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1023581
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alkalyne/pseuds/Alkalyne
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Word spreads fast around the station. But all rumors contain a grain of truth...but the question is, which truth is it? More importantly is it one Bashir wants to face?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Only a Rumor

**Author's Note:**

> A small bit that started off as being inspired by "The Jeweler's Hands" from an amazing Garak/Bashir playlist on 8tracks (Especially The Lies, I think). It kinda deviated from the song's true inspiration but ah well. ...Also Garak aint easy to write.
> 
> I hope you enjoy :)
> 
> PS  
> Half way through Season 6--this can take place anywhere up to around there, I think.

Bashir felt as if his head wasn't quite attached to his body. It was a sensation he wished he couldn't say he was familiar with. Alas it was, as was the odd, contradictory feeling of the head being heavy at the same time.

Everything in the world didn't quite feel right. The vibrations of the station were too strong, making him itch in his uniform. His steps were too heavy and clumsy--this wasn't right. Nothing here was supposed to be happening.

But it was. Some of the Bajorans aboard the station weren't happy about the latest rumors about the he and the tailor. He couldn't blame them--many of them had grown up seeing the Cardassians as monsters. So why would anyone in their right mind see a doctor who met with one of those vile things for lunch? Still, it was distressing that they were outright avoiding the infirmary until he turned in for the night. Worse, word was starting to spread they were even taking ships back to Bajor for treatment.

So he was going to get to the bottom of it--and it would be without anybody's help. Bashir was a grown man. The only person whose "help" he would get would be Garak's. ...And he didn't fully categorize that as help, per se. It was just that the two were going to have to discuss this. Bashir wanted to make sure his patients knew that their doctor had their best interests at heart. They were free to hate him all they wanted. But refusing treatment by him or even his staff despite a threatening condition was ridiculous.

And all because somebody had to overhear someone quote a slurred conversation about himself and Garak's relationship.

How his insides twisted at the thought of that.

The doctor turned a corner, knowing where to go. A young Bajoran smiled at him as she walked by. The reminder of it indeed only being some was always appreciated. But her kind gesture did nothing for the developing nausea.

Bashir found himself at his friend's doors already.

He pressed a button to the side of the handle.

The trill was muffled. So were Garak's cautious steps.

"Who is it?" 

Bashir licked his dry lips. "Me." His voice almost cracked. Maybe he should have cleared his throat before speaking up.

There was a hiss and the doors opened, revealing the familiar face of his favorite tailor.

"Ah, doctor!" Garak grinned. "What a pleasant surprise." He stepped aside. "What brings you here?"

Bashir paused in mid-step. He gave a quick sweep of the room, not even needing to squint. It was dim but he could see just fine. 

Garak chuckled. "My dear, you are learning. But you ought not to leave your back exposed with such poor balance." 

The Human completed his step, turning the near-stumble into something of moderate grace. At least Garak didn't yank him in. Hm. Something about that was strange, but Bashir had little time to pursue it. The doors slid shut behind him and Garak stood there, studying him and keeping a pleasant air about him.

"So, my dear doctor, what brings you here?"

Bashir tugged his shirt down and rolled his shoulders. "To discuss something rather important."

"Oh? Well then, allow me to get us some tea. Tarkalean?"

"Yes, that would be lovely."

Garak skittered off to his replicator.

He had been here only a couple times. Most of those rare, private moments the two shared were in Bashir's quarters. But he knew where to sit, taking a spot next to a window. It was nice, sitting in the dim light. The temperature was a bit more than he liked and the humidity was certainly something he could do without. Still, it wasn't that bad. The room held an odor he had grown familiar to. Cardassians, he noticed, gave off very little smell. Well, for him it wasn't as minute, but it certainly wasn't as noticeable as that of a Klingon or Orion. Perhaps the moisture in the air affected it, but really it was't that bad. There was a subtle kick of something that reminded Bashir of sand and moss. 

"I do apologize but it would appear my replicator has decided to take its sweet time again." Garak had returned with two mugs of tea. He feigned a pout. "I do miss the days when you pretended to be startled by my silence."

Bashir's eyes crinkled as he smiled. "Thank you, Garak," His friend was careful in handing him the warm tea. The doctor was grateful to have something steady his nerves. "And really? You don't feel jilted that I hid that from you?"

The man let out a laugh. There was a rolling quality about it--it just seemed to gain momentum the longer it lasted. "Oh, believe me, there is still some upset about how you kept those secrets from me. Yet at the same time I'm quite impressed." 

He felt some pride. At least somebody here recognized him for what he was worth.

But that wasn't what he was here for. ...Not quite. No, that would be a bonus to the core of the issue. 

"Something seems to be bothering you," observed the Cardassian.

"Hm." Bashir took a sip of the sweetened tea before answering. "I do believe you may already know what that is."

Garak's pale lips were pulled back in muted amusement. But there was something else mixed in with it this time. "Is this about your Bajoran patients? You don't seem like the type to be wounded so easily."

Bashir's head bobbed. "Mm...I do appreciate your faith in my mental fortitude, but that's not it." He took another sip. "It's more of why they're avoiding me and to the extent that they are." 

The man who sat across from him kept his eyes locked on Bashir's. "Oh? And you think I might be able to help root out the cause of this?"

"Garak, I think you know it's more than just that." Bashir's lips pulled back into a tight, humorless smile.

It was almost impossible to catch, despite his ability to see in the dim light or the mug obstructing most of the view. But Bashir saw it. Garak's lips twitched down. "And what would that be?" 

Bashir sighed. "Word around the station is that you and I aren't just dating...but that we're quite intimate." He kept his face smooth but failed at keeping his heartbeat level. His cheeks could have been turning red but it was impossible to tell in this heat.

"Ah, yes...I may have heard a few of these words here and there."

"I had a Bajoran monk approach me the other day. He told me that it was okay, it wasn't my fault and I could speak to him and he'd help me escape you." The words were clumsy, his throat tight. "Garak, some people think this relationship is against my will. That is not okay in the slightest!"

Garak looked as if he had been slapped. Well...perhaps? Bashir actually had no idea what expression the man would wear if he was to be slapped by the doctor. Then again, getting shot at seemed more like a mild disruption in the day, so really, maybe slap wasn't the right choice. But startled? No, that wasn't it either. Damn. Bashir was wishing he had in fact given into the impulse, to have Garak meet his "family." Then maybe he'd have an extra edge over the man.

But it was clear Garak had not expected that aspect of the Bajorans.

Or--oh. Oh...

"'This relationship,' doctor?" Garak's voice covered up whatever surprise he may have felt. "Forgive me if I ask for clarifications, as the universal translator can...butcher subtleties. But when you say 'this relationship' do you mean that in our friendship? Or did the translator have a hiccup and you meant 'the' relationship? As in...this fictive one that our Bajoran friends seem bent on believing?"

Bashir's heart gave a painful leap. The way that man just had to pause. Any other conversation and the doctor would be running wild, trying to piece together what new game the tailor was weaving.

Except nobody was playing a game now. At least not an "easy" one this time around.

He felt utterly helpless in Garak's gaze. All the other stern words he had stored and double-meaning phrases fell apart.

"Doctor, are you actually here to discuss your upset over the more difficult Bajorans? I know you. I know you would find a way in two minutes or less to get them to see the truth. Any false words you use would, of course, reach me. But you know whatever you said wouldn't upset me because if it did, I'd be too busy being impressed. And then when we meet for lunch again, we could sort it out and everyone would be happy and healthy again. Yet you aren't. You're holding your tongue. Why?" 

Bashir's clamped his jaw shut. The nausea was returning. Everything about the room was starting to feel off. It wasn't supposed to be this cool. Or dry, he noted, licking his lips. Did Garak alter the environment?

"Doctor?"

Something hot flashed in Bashir's heart. What happened to 'my dear'? Garak' hands, he spied, were clamped on that mug. Any tighter a grip and that glass would crack. The man was no longer putting up his relaxed, fluid front. Definitely not--his shoulders were tight and his back straight. Silly Garak, that wasn't a safe way to hold yourself if somebody wanted to talk--

"Julian?"

His name, _now_ of all times. What the hell was Garak playing at this time?

Bashir took a steadying breath. "I am here to discuss this rumor with you. Through talking to you, I could truly see what it meant by judging people by what they do versus what they say. People aren't just saying we're in an intimate relationship, they're acting as if we are. What I want to know is are they doing this because _you_ put together a front for such? Did you do all this as a way to add to your false image of a tailor? Oh, how grand would it be for two star-crossed lovers to meet in an unlikely situation. Just a humble, simple tailor, who finds a naive, young doctor irresistible and in need of guidance. What a harmless man--no need to suspect him of being from the Obsidian Order!"

The glass cracked.

Well fuck.

Bashir braced himself, ready to spring out of the way--hell even use the cooling tea as a distraction. But that all came to a halt. He wasn't sure what about this relationship he'd have wanted. The danger and excitement of something new and always being on the look out? That was certainly doable with Garak but it sure as hell wasn't healthy. Had he a successful relationship with Jadzia or Kira, never would those thoughts race through his mind.

But the expression on Garak's face made Bashir wonder if shooting him would be less heartbreaking.

Garak pushed his drink aside and locked eyes with Bashir.

The man was graceless in setting his own mug down.

"Which would you like us to address first, then?" Garak said with as much delicacy as possible.

Bashir swallowed. "Just what the hell game are you playing at, Garak? That's what I want to know. What other half could there be?"

"Honestly, doctor, are you sure you aren't crazy like the rest of your lot? You seem so deluded into thinking there is a game about all this and that it's in two pieces."

"Well there is, isn't there? You're obviously feigning love for me to throw off those who want you dead! I want to put this to an end so my patients will stop avoiding me and my staff!"

"No, that is not what's going on--everything about your body language indicates you want to talk about much more than that." The words shot out at Bashir, a completely different pace from Garak's normal, slow delivery. "Why are you really here, doctor?"

Bashir winced. Doctor. Not Julian. Not even Bashir or 'my dear.' Just the profession. A word that served as a mask to Garak.

He could feel the Cardassian's eyes on him. Not once did they stop studying him. Always scanning him, looking him over, searching for a crack here or a weakness there. Never did he get a moment's rest from Garak's gaze when they sat together to discuss their days. And Bashir always carried that fact with him wherever he went. It wasn't quite a mental good luck charm. But there was a comfort to know that there was somebody who was always looking at him and perhaps even thinking about him constantly.

"For the truth," Bashir said at last.

"Hm?"

"Rumors always carry a grain of truth, Garak. So which one do these contain? Am I just a front for you and you really are a spy? Or have I been strung along this entire time, manipulated into a friendship?"

Garak's mouth twisted into a grimace. "You're avoiding the real heart of the matter."

"You do it all the time--what, don't like somebody dishing out what you do?" He couldn't keep the bite of anger from his tone.

The man's brow furrowed. "You wanted to get to the point and I'm willing to do that."

"How do I not know you won't be lying? Or, wait, it's especially the lies that are the truths."

"Doctor," Garak growled, "which do you want? The heart of the matter or to be sent out of here?"

Bashir stopped. "...Or is it something completely different?" He whispered.

Garak shifted in his seat. "You think...there is a certain truth to this manner that you rather not address?" He phrased it just enough to sound like a question. It really wasn't one, though.

The doctor forced himself to look back at Garak. He had such lovely blue eyes.

Garak put his hands over Bashir's.

All of existence may as well have disappeared at that very moment. 

"My dear, dear doctor...I wish the same but it is simply not in our best interests." His voice light but Bashir just knew his heart wasn't. "As evidenced with your patients."

"...So everything about you is a threat to my livelihood, is that it?" Bashir's fingers curled under those rough, gray palms. "I'm not a child, Garak--I can fend for myself. I'm a Star Fleet officer!"

The tailor clasped Bashir's hands. "I'm not being a completely selfless man, my dear."

His heart leaped and then sank. So. He wasn't a toy to Garak--no. Bashir was a vulnerability; a threat to his ability to function. To be so close to someone's heart was an alien thought, something he never thought would be ever again.

Garak stroked Bashir's wrists, his eyes drifting down to them. "You can tell them the truth--the rumors are false."

And the world was breaking. 

"Had we lived in different times..." he let out a mirthless laugh. "No, had we lived in different times perhaps we never would have met."

Bashir forced himself to swallow back whatever useless words he wanted to say. His throat was burning and he didn't fancy breathing right about now.

"You're strong, smart and a...charming, doctor. You won't have to worry about being alone."

He shook his head, letting out a dry laugh. "No, Garak, no. I don't think you quite get it." Bashir gave his own, humorless smile. "You may be able to break into my room, persuade the Captain to let us take you onto dangerous missions...You may be able to do many complex things for a simple tailor, but you can't be right about that. No matter how many lies you tell yourself, it will never be true. You think I can find company." He snorted. "Come now, you think I speak with you at lunch just to avoid being lonely?" Bashir shook his head again. "You don't truly think that."

"I'm not someone you should be able to relate to," Garak narrowed his eyes. 

"Not fully, no, I don't. But as far as everyone is concerned, neither of us deserve to exist. That much we can agree on."

Something in Garak's eyes flashed. He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, bringing Bashir's hands close. "We shouldn't exist, yes."

Bashir's hands hit the table with a _thump._

"Right." He nodded. "Right then..." He was out the chair and walking for the door.

Garak was at his side. "Julian."

"What?" Bashir turned, hand hovering over the panel that would grant him his escape.

"It...is for the best."

For the two to be alone and always just out of reach. Yes, it was absolutely for the best. To never have one's hands in the other's.

The door hissed open and Bashir was gone.


End file.
